Indian Summer, You Can Kiss My Ass.

I’ve been quiet here, partially because I’m feeling hormonal as hell (and yet no sign of my period, which Dave has pointed out, I’ve been saying “was coming any minute now” for the past two months) and partially because I think my brain may actually be melting. Seriously, take an MRI of my brain, and I can almost assure you that I may be missing a cortex or twenty-seven. I’m like a gigantic brain stem, just walking around having to be told what to do. Thankfully the sinus infection seems to be abating somewhat, but now this pervasive heat seems to be actually driving me past the brink of madness.

I seem to have made a grave tactical error several weeks ago when I proclaimed “Well, the A/C dying couldn’t have happened at a better time,” because yeah, it’s now about 10,000 degrees Celcius (and yes, I am aware that that is an impossibility) in my home. With a 60% humidity. It’s so humid here that I actually think I heard the carpet squish under my feet when I got up this morning. I’m not even exaggerating slightly. I actually made poor Dave go buy a window A/C unit for our bedroom on Saturday, as it was cheaper than going to live at a hotel for a couple of days.

But Becky, you say, your parents live across the river and they have 4 extra bedrooms that they are NOT USING plus glorious, oh glorious! central air conditioning! Why not just go there?

Oh, dear reader, I would just as soon take up Interpretive Dancing as a career choice (which creeps me the hell out) than ever, EVER do that again! When we were selling the condo before we got the keys to our new house, we moved in with them for about a month. Possibly the longest and most nerve wracking month of my life. Let’s just say that with the shear amount of empty rooms, whichever one we were currently occupying was suddenly the room that my father JUST HAD TO BE IN RIGHTNOWRIGHTNOWRIGHTNOW (including the bedroom that we were sleeping in), like he was a jealous four-year-old or something. It actually got so bad that we were strongly considering the fiscally irresponsible (but mentally healthful) possiblity renting a hotel room for the remainder of our stay, while the huge possibility of two morgages was looming on the horizon. It was AT THAT MOMENT that we vowed never, ever, to stay with my parents again. Ever.

So here I sit in the oppresively pervasive heat, losing possibly another cortex (one that was not previously damaged by the complete and utter lack of sleep that marks my days and nights. Man, I’m melodramtic today!), trying to look on the bright side of things.

At least Dave was able to fix the screen door that I fell through this weekend.

(I think it may be high time to Becky-proof the whole house before some ER doctor thinks that my husband beats me, which, if you know Dave, is a totally hilarious thought. If anything, I’d be the one who’d do the whuppin’. But how do you explain that to a resident?)

4 Responses to Indian Summer, You Can Kiss My Ass.

You do realize that I have a townhouse (currently modestly furnished and uninhabited) complete with central air? You dumbass – you should have called me. You wouldn’t even have to drive very far. Downside – no cable or internet. Plus side – there is a TV just waiting for a DVD player.